Autumnwatch Tower
by girlfromgraz
Summary: How Falka and Vilkas come to spend a night at Autumnwatch Tower. Vilkas meets his limits, and Falka finds a book.


_Thanks for all your lovely and encouraging reviews, they never fail to enlighten my day._

_And special thanks to la_libertine for betaing this piece and helping me out with some brilliant ideas and thoughts when I was stuck._

_Hope you enjoy it!_

* * *

The late light of day stung in their eyes as the two warriors stepped out into the open from the gloom of Honeystrand Cave.

Vilkas turned south. "If we're quick, we can make it through the pass to Helgen before it gets dark." He took a few steps before noticing the hesitation from his companion. He turned around. "Red? What are you waiting for? It's getting dark and—"

"I'm not going through Helgen," she interrupted him.

"What? It's the fastest way to Falkreath, and you know it." Vilkas narrowed his eyes at her. She had frozen in mid-step, looking genuinely agitated. And was her heart beating faster?

"I won't go through Helgen," she insisted, shaking her head vehemently, almost desperately. A cold wind from the cave carried her scent his way. It was laced with distress and so very unlike the woman Vilkas knew.

"So what do you suggest?"

"We go north, to Ivarstead. From there, we can catch a cart, and we will be in Whiterun by the time Secundus shows. Tomorrow, we continue to Falkreath."

"You'd have to pass Helgen then," Vilkas smirked at her, impressed at how quickly she had recovered.

"There are other ways to travel by, wolf. It's a shame you don't know your own country," she retorted, a telling glint in her eyes. If his senses had been anything less than they were, he might have missed the brief moment.

"It's a shame you're afraid of a few ruins, Red," Vilkas challenged.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "I was planning on going along the shores of Lake Ilinalta, so you could—"

A loud roar split the air. Vilkas never learned what Falka had planned for him as a dragon soared past, showering them both in ice. Accustomed to the cold as he was, Vilkas broke through the spell first. Drawing his bow, he sprinted for cover. The ice released Falka an instant later, and she followed Vilkas' example, sprinting for cover. A faint smile ghosted over Vilkas' lips at the string of profanities that accompanied her. And then, he noticed the nasty burns on her arms, and the smile froze. Falka hissed in pain as she let a ball of fire grow between her hands. The dragon zoomed in on them, and she let fly. Her missile exploded on its skin, followed by Vilkas' arrow. The creature screeched in pain.

"Bring it down!" Vilkas hollered.

The dragon swooped past. Falka readied another spell. The beast, though, was nowhere to be seen. She scanned the skies for the familiar form, willing away the trees that limited her field of view. A few steps away, with an arrow notched and ready to fly, Vilkas mirrored her actions, all his senses stretched to their maximum.

"Where did it go?"

"No idea!" she shouted back. And then, "Over there!"

Behind the trees, a serpent-like form soared across the skies. Vilkas sprang into action, sprinting towards the animal with inhuman speed. Falka raced after her companion, darting through the wood. Another angry roar made their ears split, and the dragon was above their heads again. Within an instant, arrow and spell hit the beast. It answered with Fo Krah Diin, and a shower of ice again covered the two warriors.

"Bring it down!" Vilkas implored, while notching another arrow to his bow.

Falka drew a deep breath, and Shouted.

An invisible force drew the dragon to the ground, forcing it to land a little further on. Never slowing his pace, Vilkas exchanged the bow for his trusted sword. Falka came up from behind, falling in step at his side. Another spell blossomed between her hands. The dragon twisted, angered at his sudden impairment, and roared again. With a yell, Falka loosed her spell. It exploded on the dragon's flank, making the animal scream. With a shout to Sovngarde and his sword raised high, Vilkas broke into a sprint. He dove around the serpent's whipping head, and attacked. The air sang as his huge sword came down and bit into the dragon's side. The animal roared. It fought against the weight that held it aground. Vilkas' sword flashed again, and cut into the dragon's throat. Ice erupted from its gaping mouth. Vilkas wasn't quick enough to evade it, shrugging through the spell instead. Falka Shouted a second time, meeting ice with fire. Her own blade shone, wet with the dragon's blood. The dragon buckled and roared. And finally, it fell.

Vilkas strode around to the dragon's head, his eyes meeting Falka's over the dead beast.

"Everything all right?" Vilkas took hold of her hands, inspecting her skin. The burns from before were gone.

"Aye." Panting, Falka nodded. "You?"

"Aye."

For a few moments, they only stared at each another, trying to catch their breaths; waiting. And then, smoke started to rise from the dragon's corpse. The scales caught fire, and within an instant, flames enveloped the entire carcass. The smell of charred flesh stung in Vilkas' nose. He turned his back on the unearthly spectacle, knowing what would come next. At his side, Falka inhaled sharply, then held her breath. An eerie light engulfed woman and beast. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and he suppressed a growl. The light intensified.

Falka was prepared for what was to come, and yet again, it catches her by surprise. The soul of the dragon soars through her body, and it burns! Burns through her veins as it claws its way towards her soul. Her heart! The wolf inside her hides in a remote corner, terrified. She screams into the void, but there is no air to carry the sound.

And then, within the blink of an eye, the spell dissipated, leaving only the bones of the animal behind.

Falka gasped. She staggered, and reached out to steady herself on Vilkas' arm.

"Red?"

"One moment."

Vilkas watched as colour returned to her face. Another breath, and Falka had overcome her vulnerability. A faint smile curled her lips in response to the worried look on his face. "Still can't look?"

"Never," Vilkas grumbled, pulling her into his arms. "It's unnatural."

"Says the man who transforms into a werewolf every now and then."

"You've got no idea what it looks like from where I'm standing." He buried his face in her hair. "Besides, can't you tell I worry for you, you squishy, puny, little mage?"

* * *

An old watchtower stood nearby, half-hidden beneath a mountain's shadow. In hope of finding the dragon's lair, the two warriors approached the ruins. A flight of stairs let up to the first of the two buildings, and inside they found signs of a recently abandoned camp.

"The dragon must have driven them off," Falka mused while pocketing the potion displayed on a small bookshelf.

"Aye," Vilkas agreed over his grumbling stomach. "I can still smell the remains of their fire."

"How long do you reckon they are gone?"

"Three days," Vilkas replied absently, kicking the ashes in the near-dark of the room.

Falka only hummed in agreement, already turning to climb a flight of stairs.

Vilkas followed her lead, stepping out onto the little tower's roof and into full sunlight again. He cast a look around, his eyes briefly lingering on the forgotten armour lying on top of a chest.

"Ugh. Who would willingly sleep here?" Falka nudged one of the bedrolls strewn across the floor with her boot, shuddering.

"A night under the sky is usually considered romantic, Red," Vilkas dead-panned.

"Romantic, my ass," the woman retorted. "Not while the beer freezes solid halfway through the night."

Vilkas shook his head, chuckling. "Can't think of anything else than freezing beer, Red?"

"Freezing to death comes to mind."

"Only you'd consider a warm summer's night cold." In mock despair, Vilkas threw his hands in the air.

"Come on, Nord." Falka sauntered over to his side, a cheeky grin on her face. She wrapped her arms around his neck. "We've got another tower to loot before night falls."

* * *

The second building was in worse shape than the first. No door barred the small room from cold and wind, and the ground floor was littered with crates, boxes, and even a handcart. Imp stools grew on specks of dirt between the rubble. They harvested the larger ones, then climbed the stairs to the next level. Vilkas' stomach rumbled again, louder this time. Certain that there was nothing of interest to be found, the two companions crossed the small room to the next flight of stairs. Finally, they reached the tower's roof.

"It will be dark soon," Falka observed, looking across the landscape.

"My stomach's been saying so for some time."

They halted in front of a huge chest. Falka squatted down to inspect it. She tried to open it, but a heavy lock thwarted her intentions.

"We'll cook the imps."

Falka hummed quizzically as she shed her gloves and produced a lockpick from the small bag she carried.

"Together with those Blisterworts and White Caps you found earlier. That'll make a nice mushroom stew, you'll see."

"I tell you what." Falka got up and closed the space between them, drawing Vilkas' whole attention on herself. "You let me try to open this chest" – her arms snuck around his hips – "and in return, we camp here for the night." Her hand found the hilt of the small dagger Vilkas always carried. "Have that mushroom stew you are dreaming of," she murmured into his ear as she drew the weapon. "Deal?"

But Vilkas caught her wrist, locking her arm to his side. "Sounds like a plan, Red," he admitted in a low voice, "though I've got an even better one." He brought their locked hands up between them, taking the dagger from her unresisting grip. "Let me try to open the chest—"

"But you are worse at this than I am!" Falka objected.

"—and if I get the lock open, we'll camp on the roof tonight, under the stars."

"Ha! Only in your dreams!"

Vilkas smirked. "Don't tell me you're afraid to lose," he drawled.

Falka huffed in disdain, her eyes narrowing. "Fine," she agreed after a few moments. "Have your try." She stepped out of his arms, and Vilkas accepted a handful of lockpicks from her. While Falka turned to inspect the rest of the tower, Vilkas knelt down in front of the chest. He shed his gloves, scrutinizing the lock. To his inexperienced eyes, the mechanism looked exceptionally complex, and gentle prodding with his dagger and lockpick only confirmed his suspicion. Shrugging, and with the promise of his bargain in mind, Vilkas set to work.

Bent on picking the lock, with his hearing strained to catch even the faintest click of the mechanism he was working on, Vilkas' attention had narrowed down to the metalwork in front of him and the tools in his hands. There! That sounded good. One step closer to—

The chest creaked. A knee appeared at the side of his field of view. Vilkas looked up to catch Falka grinning from ear to ear as she swung her other leg over the chest's lid.

"How are you doing?" she asked, a smug look on her face.

"Fine." he quipped, taking note of the sight right in front of his eyes.

Elbows resting on knees and arms dangling between her legs, Falka leaned forwards until their noses almost touched. "Good," she breathed.

Ignoring her distractions, Vilkas gently pushed Falka's arms aside and returned his attention to the lock. He shifted the dagger in his hand another degree, feeling the lock's strains in his fingertips. Another degree and another— The fine piece of metal in his fingers got wedged. It snapped in two before he could react. Vilkas muttered a curse.

"Regretting it already?" Falka breathed into his ear.

"Hardly," Vilkas snorted.

"You could always surrender, you know."

"Better look around for another warm fur or two, Red. Tonight's going to be cold."

"I claim the three on the roof," she declared lazily, leaning back.

Vilkas studied her for a moment, enjoying the way she reclined on the chest. "You've already got two besides mine," he replied, stretching to pull another lockpick from the pouch at Falka's hip.

Falka waved her hand, sighing exasperated. "Those are for indoors. Besides, I never thought you would object."

"Nah. Why would I? You'd be frozen to death without me."

Falka harrumphed, but did not reply. Vilkas returned his attention to the lock. The intricate mechanism had begun showing traces of his brute attacks, but Vilkas was convinced he would get it open eventually. His elevated senses noticed Falka shift her weight on the chest, though he tried to block out her distractions. A little more to the right, and then... Yes, that faintest of clicks sounded good! A noise from above made Vilkas look up. The lockpick snapped. Vilkas swore. Falka smiled, and took another slow, showy bite of an apple.

"Ready to give up yet?"

"Where'd you get that from?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Falka grinned and again bit into the apple. Chewing on her food, she hummed contently.

Vilkas leaned closer, mirth sparkling in his eyes. "You won't get off that easily, Red." And with one quick lunge, he shot forwards and snatched the apple from her hand. Falka complained and made a swiping move to reclaim her apple, but Vilkas fought her off while taking a huge bite of the fruit.

"Worried you'll have to spend the night outside, Red?" Vilkas asked between two huge bites.

"Hardly," Falka snorted disdainfully, though her façade was crumbling.

Vilkas finished the apple and threw the remains away. Equipped with yet another lockpick, he returned his attention to his work. The mechanism clicked as Vilkas gently fiddled with lockpick and dagger.

"That sounded good," Falka breathed into his ear.

Not reckoning on her closeness, Vilkas flinched. The lockpick broke.

"Woman!"

"Aye?" she grinned at him.

Vilkas lunged forwards, pinning Falka down on the chest.

"You were too late," he mumbled into her ear. Falka's arms snuck around his neck, and he felt her lips on his jaw. "I got it open." Vilkas leaned into her touch. "You know what that means?"

"Bloody armour," Falka sighed against his skin.

Chuckling, Vilkas leaned into her kiss.

* * *

Later that night, a noise woke Vilkas from his sleep. He was alone, wrapped in only his trusted old sleeping roll, neither the heap of furs nor Falka in sight. A light shone through the hole in the roof. Inside the tower, he found Falka, buried in a mountain of blankets and pelts.

"Red?"

She looked up at him, a distressed look on her face.

"Red? What's the matter?"

Her gaze fell to the book that lay on the floor in front of her. A small book, barely a journal, stamped with golden letters. Vilkas' eyes narrowed.

"No," he moaned. Quickly, he crossed the little space, squatting down to pick up the book. "Tell me you didn't—" The blank stare in Falka's eyes made him break off. "You did, didn't you?"

She nodded, woodenly. "Aye." Her answer was barely more than a whisper.

"Where'd you get it from?"

"The chest."

Vilkas damned Crex and his cursed book.

"Is it true, Vilkas? The things he says?"

Hesitantly, he nodded. "Aye."

"All the pain, the agony…" Falka stared into the fire. "How can one do such a thing? How can one man be so cruel?"

Vilkas only shook his head, helpless and bereft of words at Falka's distress.

After a moment, Falka broke from her apathy and turned to look at him. "Is it really worth it, Vilkas? The pain, the restlessness, the hunt… Is it?"

Vilkas sighed. "I—" He broke off, shrugging. The letters on the little book gleamed in the light of the fire. Vilkas' eyes narrowed. "Honestly?" He tossed the book to the dying flames of the fire. "That man was a sick bastard."

"Dissecting living people—" Falka shuddered.

Vilkas shifted closer and pulled Falka into his arms. "I never wanted you to read this," he mumbled into the crown of her head. Falka nodded. In silence, they watched as the flames devoured the pages.

"I haven't found a night of proper sleep since I took the blood." Falka's confession interrupted Vilkas' own thoughts. "A few hours of peace. Of solitude. And rest. I can't find it anymore. Sometimes, it feels like I can't even remember what it's like."

Vilkas shook his head. "I don't remember it anyway else."

"Have you…" Falka trailed off.

"What?"

Falka shook her head.

Vilkas tightened his embrace. "Red, I can smell there's something else bothering you."

"That is exactly it!" Falka exclaimed, shrugging out of his arms. "You can smell that! Doesn't this bother you? I know it does me!"

"It's saved my life more times than I'd care to remember," Vilkas retorted.

"You can smell my distress. Anger. Fear. Panic. You can hear you way through a lock! Does it not bother you?"

"Not really, no," Vilkas admitted.

Falka stared at him, eyes wide.

"Red." Vilkas reached for her hand.

"I know I would be dead if it had not been for your sense of smell," she whispered.

"I'm glad you didn't become a Vampire."

"So am I." She cast a branch into the embers. The wood caught fire, and they watched as the flames hungrily devoured it.

"You haven't changed again since you took the blood," Vilkas implored. "Have you?"

"No." Falka shook her head. "I did not dare."

He reached out to stroke her cheek. "I know."

"And now that I have read this" – she gestured at the fire – "I do not believe I will ever again. 'The heart is the first thing to swell, long before the lungs and or bones.' I will not be able to forget that soon." Falka shuddered.

"Don't think too long about it." Vilkas squeezed her tight. "Crex doesn't deserve it, and he has paid for what he's done."

"You?" Falka looked up at him, amazement clear on her face.

He laughed. "Nah, I hadn't even taken the blood back then."

"Oh." Falka paused. "Do you…" She hesitated. "Do you truly not remember what it was like before?"

"Not much, no. My senses…" It was Vilkas' turn to hesitate. "I wouldn't know how to live without them."

"You had many years to get used to them, hm?" Falka ventured.

Vilkas nodded.

"Is that why you are still hesitating? With the cure?"

"Aye," he admitted. "They give me the edge I need. They make me the warrior I am. I… can't do without them. Not while the war still rages. While Skyrim still burns. While…"

"While people still need protecting," Falka finished his musings. "I know."

Vilkas crushed her against his chest, making Falka shriek in surprise.

"'m glad you're here with me."

Falka snuggled closer. "You know – so am I."


End file.
